In Another Life (To How We Were And Will Be)
by needcoffeetofunction
Summary: Erik's surface thoughts hits him like a tidalwave, broadcasting confusion but with a complete and utter pointed focus on Charles. Erik's thinking of him, searching, worried, all wrapped up in an overwhelming amount of emotions he dare to recognize as love, the enormity of it leaving Charles gasping and reeling to a stupor.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This story mainly revolves around the idea what if canon!Erik pisses off a mutant with his mutant supremacy, humans must _diediedie_ ideals and has the power of consciousness transference (is that even a power?) and he is mentally pushed into a universe where he's very much human (mutation is tied to DNA yes?) and an actor for a profession like his husband Charles, _think Brangelina_ , and gets first hand experience of what it feels like to be ordinary though at the same time also gets to experience what it is like to be a part of a family unit (comes A/B/O dynamics) and being in a relationship with a Charles whose Erik haven't disappointed yet to ridiculous levels and is wholly devoted to him.

Then of course we have Actor!Erik being the unfortunate schmuck that gets stuck in Canon!Erik's body as well. A consciousness swap in layman's terms. So we've got canon!Erik in the Actors!AU!Verse and Actors!Erik in the Canon!Verse. This is an AU of Proper Care of Actors meeting Canon!Post!XMEN!DOFP. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 **Summary:** Erik goes to bed after kissing his children goodnight to the sight of his mate's turned back, exiling Erik to the other side of the bed for a cold night ahead. It's not the first time Charles' mood swings got the best of him. He reckons Charles will calm down in the morning and he'd be there ready to kiss and make up. He sure as hell didn't expect to wake bleeding in an alley, missing Charles, his children, then meeting a man who looks every bit like the love of his life except for two glaringly obvious things. One, gone was the baby bump of his five months pregnant mate and two, the man before him is, _mein Gott_ , in a wheelchair.

While Erik Lehnsherr, husband and father sinks in denial, across the multiverse, Erik Lehnsherr, escaped mutant convict jerks awake to the sound of little fists pounding on a door all the while wrapped up in a warmth he didn't think he still had any right to before staring stupidly at a pair of sky-blue eyes lovingly gazing down at him.

"Good morning. I'm sorry, darling. I love you." The man with Charles' face says, closing the distance between them with a gentle, sweet kiss and Erik's suddenly startlingly sure the mutant he'd tried to collect had singlehandedly sent him to the afterlife.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: This Side Up**

It's been five months, three weeks, six days and eighteen hours, _not that he was keeping track,_ since Erik said his goodbyes, closing the chapter in his life containing Charles and everything between them, good and bad with a finality that still leaves him reeling most days.

Having dropped a stadium on Charles' head and nearly killing him the second time, the logical thing to do was to say good riddance and go on his way with a skip on his step. Or whatever the bloody hell the equivalent to that was when you're tied to a bloody chair for the rest of your bloody life. Surely not holding on to the foolish hope that Erik would see sense and come back to them. _To him._ So they could pick up where they left off. Plans for the future. Opening up the school. Teaching mutant children to harness their gifts, to welcome them to a place where they can be accepted, encouraged. Providing shelter, a safe haven for their kind, those who doesn't have anywhere else to go. Side by side. _Together._

Once upon a time he truly believed it could have been, until Erik decided he rather liked the sound of mass human genocide and stomped all over Charles hopes and dreams, leaving him with nothing but a broken body and a broken heart.

Charles had been in pain both emotionally and physically, lonely, depressed, _angry_ for most part of the past decade and still is. There's no moving past the utter sense of betrayal he feels for Erik anytime soon, angry hate sex in planes notwithstanding.

He should forget him, close the whole book shut, rip out the pages that has Erik in it and toss them to the fire until there's nothing but ash and dust. Yet no matter how much he tries to keep his once lover, former friend from invading his daily thought, _out of sight, out of mind they always say,_ it remains a futile attempt. There continues to exist a gaping Erik-shaped chasm inside of him that he wants to fill, yet knows with stark clarity will never be able to. It's completely pathetic and he hates himself a little bit more every day for such helpless longing.

It wasn't always depressing, thank God for small mercies. Raven's return to the mansion had been a pleasant surprise, a welcome respite from his continouos failings, bringing along a Logan _needing a place to crash_ with no memory whatsoever of Washington.

They might have averted the creation of Sentinels, _though he still has his doubts about Trask Industries,_ and the existence of mutants have been met with a percentage of acceptance higher than what he'd initially expected, but it still doesn't change the fact that anti-mutant organizations have been forming, causing trouble and trying to persuade the public that mutants are dangerous and deserve to be put down before they could get the chance to annihilate the human race, operating on blind fear and willful ignorance.

If Erik, no— Magneto continues to give them cause to act on that fear, then he's afraid Logan's trip to the past would have been for naught.

It is with this understanding that Charles decides to seek Erik out, hoping by some miracle he'd find him without that godawful helmet on. One last plea to change his mind, reach out to the good he felt within him once before, to the part that loved his human mother unconditionally, the man who confessed his love to an idealistic fool, who promised him an _After_ in the height of passion once done dealing with Shaw, before everything went to hell in a handbasket.

If he was to be perfectly honest however, a large part of Charles has been resigned to find nothing but aching void in Erik's place upon using Cerebro, that it thoroughly caught him offguard to find Erik so fast and so near, a mere twenty minute drive away.

It's like coming home after a long journey to be able to brush against Erik's mind, warmth and exhiliration filling him no matter how shortlived.

Erik's surface thoughts hits him like a tidalwave, broadcasting confusion but with a complete and utter pointed focus on Charles, _Erik's thinking of him, searching, worried, all wrapped up in an overpowering emotion he dares not hope still exists within the man,_ the sheer enormity of it leaving Charles reeling and gasping for breath. Of all the things he thought he'd find inside that head, it sure bloody hell wasn't that.

It almost blindsides him, the unexpected turnaround in Erik's thought process he nearly missed the presence of another mutant a short distance from where Erik was, thoughts mainly of anger through fear— of Erik, _which Charles finds even more surprising given Erik's singleminded focus on him—_ a deep sense of needing to hide, to be left alone. A young mind.

Charles telepathically yells for Hank and Raven as soon as he's wheeled himself outside of Cerebro, instructing them to come and retrieve Erik much to the outrage of his sister and the quiet but simmering disapproval of his closest friend, practically brother.

They put up a token protest for all of three minutes before submitting to Charles' kicked puppy eyes, _always good to know he's still got it, granted the eyes only works when he doesn't look like a hobo like he did a year ago,_ grudgingly admitting that he could not be swayed, but not before spewing a ton of perfectly understandable complaints on their way to the door.

It was only when Charles mentioned the other mutant that they stopped grumbling altogether, a probable mutual understanding passing between them to keep young impressionable mutant minds away from Magneto.

Left with nothing but his thoughts and the gentle lull of white noise from multiple minds in the background emanating from the Eastern Wing where the children and a few adults like Logan were staying, Charles can't help think that Hank was right in dubbing his most recent change of heart, where megalomaniac mutant supremacists are concerned, as another bad decision in a long line of bad decisions.

No matter. It still does not stop him from wheeling back to his bedroom and making sure he appear presentable for his guests. Charles resolutely does not think of what he'd seen inside Erik's mind, does not dare hope that Erik would love him enough to turn his back on his beliefs.

That way lay madness.

* * *

There's a voice asking him if he's okay, or at least he believes that was the question, he can't be too sure since for all the urgency the tone is giving off, the words are coming across as if he's underwater. There are hands on his shoulders, coaxing him to stand, asking if he can walk, tight grip on his waist. He feels something warm trickle down his temple, a coppery smell, he half guesses it might be blood. His blood? Shit. Did he get into an accident?

Someone yells to be careful with him, he thinks again _Charles,_ but then his face is mushed into a warm patch of skin and he inhales, ready for the intoxicating scent of his mate to penetrate his senses only to instantly recoil because, _nope, nope, not Charles. Where's Charles?_

It's probably Remy he decides. Not that he'd even have an inkling of an idea how that pretty boy moron would smell like. But of course it can't be Remy. For one, there's none of the incessant French nattering his assistant deems appropriate to annoy him with on a near daily basis.

Everything feels sluggish and slow and he's not coordinated at all is he, Erik realizes as soon as he's upright. The grip on his waist tightens before a presence supports him on his right side. Smaller. Female. A whole lot of hair annoyingly tickling his face. He can barely feel his legs, head heavy as it lolls forward, listing precariously on unsteady, ungainly feet. The sensation's fairly reminiscent of a whole night spent binge drinking with Charles resulting in a fantastically terrible hangover in the morning, then multiplying it by ten.

He's sure that's not the case though. Charles is in no way shape or form fit for alcohol intake, his angry, tear-filled eyes just the day prior having been seared into his brain. He's in the doghouse, he knows that. God, he hates it when they fight.

He probably drank himself to oblivion rather than try to patch things up between them. He's not exactly dependable when it comes to reconciliation methods despite the years he's been a husband and a father. He's always tried his best to be as understanding and accommodating as possible. Made it his life's goal to never give Charles cause to be angry. But inevitably there are those moments when he slips and his temper gets the better of him and he's left at an impasse, not really knowing what to do.

He better talk to Mama soon. She always gives great advice. On second thought, maybe not. Mama's going to be righteously furious at him if she hears he and Charles had a fight and he refused to be the one to take that first step.

Why did he have to be so stubborn? He knows full well Charles becomes impossibly moody when pregnant and can't be held responsible for his current aggravating behavior adding on top of Erik already being stressed as all out with work.

He struggles to open his eyes, squints at a foggy image of a damp ground. Something horrible rushes up his chest and out his throat, then he's dry heaving, stomach in knots and head pounding like he's been bashed against a wall far too many times.

The drinking into oblivion scenario is starting to sound very plausible by the minute. He doesn't remember drinking however. Shouldn't he have sober memories of the previous night if that were true? The last he recalls doing was putting the kids to bed and kissing them goodnight.

"Get a hold of yourself, Magneto. Jesus, what did you get yourself into this time?" someone says in thinly-veiled disgust, decidedly female. Erik can do nothing but try to control his insides from making a hasty exit through his mouth, _the disgusting smell of people's trash, what the— are they in an alley?_ making the nausea so much worse.

And what the fuck's a Magneto?

"What is he even doing out in the open like this. And why are we helping him at all?" comes the grumbling reply by his left and Erik's suddenly relieved at the familiarity. He'd know the voice combination of these two lovebirds anywhere.

"You heard what Charles said, Hank."

"The Professor doesn't exactly think rationally when Magneto's involved, Raven.

"It's Mystique."

"Whatever."

 _Charles._ He rasps, dismissing the ridiculous name he's pretty certain was aimed at him in favor of asking for his husband's whereabouts. Nothing comes out anywhere close to articulate though, he kind of sounds like a drunk seal, _the fuck's wrong with his tongue,_ so he gets ignored, as they talk over him, increasingly sounding in the middle of a lover's spat.

"Wasn't there supposed to be another mutant?"

"Well, you can't expect them to wait on us, especially if what Charles said was true. Hurry up."

A frustrated groan follows. "I'm not your lackey."

He gets hoisted over a shoulder, irritated at himself for not having enough motor control to stand on his own two feet. Or smack Hank at the back of his head at least once with the tone he's having. Like helping Erik out is the last thing he wants to do, right there below scrubbing public toilets. Erik's sure they were past that level of animosity.

"Jesus, this guy's a dead weight."

A car door opens and he's none-too-gently deposited on the backseat. He looks up slowly, squints at the cobwebs and the black and white spots in his vision and yep, there's Hank, and his twin, looking like the world's grumpiest kittens.

"Here. Get that wound patched up. It doesn't look too good. Don't let him bleed on the leather." Oh, there's Raven at the driver's seat, all three of her. "He looks concussed, Hank."

"He is." There's a penlight in his face. Ugh. Too bright. Since when did cameramen started bringing medical stuff with them? He weakly swats it away, and fails. "Pupil's dilated. Reaction time's very slow, then there was the vomiting. I'm gonna need to do scans. Erik, how many fingers am I holding up?"

Erik tries to answer ten, _he's pretty sure it's ten, though there's only one hand, maybe,_ but his tongue still feels like lead so what comes out is another rendition of a slightly-less drunk seal.

"Don't fall asleep." Hank tells him like Erik can't figure it out by himself that falling asleep with a concussion is dangerous. "What do you reckon happened?" Hank asks Raven. Erik follows the movement of heads turning in synchronization. This seeing double, triple business is starting to get on his nerves.

"He was probably recruiting and whoever it was didn't like his ideas." Raven replies, looking pinched or constipated, Erik can't tell from this distance. "I think the other mutant must have used their powers on him if he was offensive enough. He's kind of garbage when it comes to recruitment speeches."

"You followed him."

"Don't start, Hank."

"Sorry. Didn't you say he took his helmet back?"

"Yes. Last I've seen him."

"He's not wearing it."

"I noticed."

Well, of course he's not wearing a helmet, Erik inwardly bristles, not liking the implication that he could ever go back on his promise to Charles. Despite the rather confusing situation he found himself in, he wasn't anywhere near a motorbike to warrant protective head gear that much he's certain.

After the accident on set involving a highway speed chase scene from his movie Bourne Apocalypse, _he never liked letting stunt doubles do the heavy work much like Charles,_ with Erik riding a motorcycle and crashing from a harness malfunction, his heavily pregnant fiance by then made him swear up and down while he was recuperating from his injuries to never ride one again, especially in their daily life, not when they have perfectly functioning cars.

 _You scared me to death, damn you! Don't you dare put me through that again._

Charles who was so easy to forgive Hank with what happened in the Canary Islands and was so level-headed in making Erik see sense and apologize to the traumatized young man, pretty much lost it with Erik's crew, screaming at anyone who so much as tries to reason it was an accident and demanding people be fired for their sheer goddamn recklessness.

It was the first he'd seen Charles so distraught, the light and happiness gone from his eyes, replaced by a constant deluge of worry and fear for Erik's life, it broke his heart over and over just watching him in the few lucid moments in between sleep and waking when he wasn't hopped up on painkillers.

He vowed to never be the cause of such crippling devastation and heartache taking residence on that sweet, beautiful face ever again, even if it meant no more motorcycle rides in his free time when he wanted to get away from the celebrity life, or letting doubles do the more of the dangerous stunts in his films. He's resigned himself to never go over forty-five miles per hour for as long as he lived.

"Don't tell, Charles." Erik says, throat feeling like sandpaper though pleasantly surprised to find his tongue finally starting to cooperate with him. He brings up a hand to his head, groans, before it falls uselessly to the side. "Don't want.. to worry him. Just, hospital first. Can't.. see me hurt."

"Stop talking crazy, Magneto. We can't just waltz in to a hospital. In case you forgot, you're a wanted criminal."

"What?" Erik manages after close to a minute once he's done blinking and squinting at Raven, trying to make sense of what she just said. Then he recalls, his current role is that of a Special Ops turned fugitive and has to wonder what the hell is Raven smoking?

He looks to Hank, hoping he prove to be saner of the two. "What's she talking about?" he asks, can't quite suppress a pained grunt from escaping as he lists sideways.

The car's moving. Okay, good. That, that's good.

He feels his stomach rebel at a sudden turn and has to suppress the urge to vomit out his spleen. He breathes through his nose as he tries to ride out the highly uncomfortable sensation.

"I mean it, Hank." He says after a while when he feels remotely in control. "Hospital first."

"We can't. Raven's right. You're a wanted fugitive. The authorities are gonna be on you faster than Peter if you show your face in any establishment."

And now they're dropping names again that Erik has no bleeding clue as to who they belonged to. First Magneto, then there was the mention of mutant ninja turtles he's pretty sure, then him being a wanted criminal, and now there's a Peter Whatshisname. What the ever loving—

"Magneto, you're not in any condition to—"

"Raven, I swear to God if you call me that ridiculous name one more time, I don't care if you're like a sister to Charles I'm getting you fired." Erik snaps, empty threats, but he's well past caring the point of playing nice. He needs a doctor and a hospital before coming anywhere near Charles and these knuckleheads are not working with him. He shifts sideways to glare at Hank, a tick to his jaw and body sprung tight as if ready to lunge. "I'm not in the mood." he grits out, almost a growl, which lasted for all of thirty seconds before he slumps against the car-seat, like a marionette whose strings has been cut.

"Hank, what's wrong with him?" Raven asks, just a hint of worry in her voice.

Nothing's wrong with him he wants to say, aside from the physically obvious, its them and their crazy talk that's wrong and not making a lick of sense. He wants to glare and snap at them and tell them they're not goddamn funny but his tongue's decided to turn traitor again. He feels too damn weak all of a sudden to do anything other than lie back and stare down uselessly at his legs, his vision steadily turning dark in the corners. That can't be good.

"He's confused. I can't tell exactly how confused, I'll be needing scans to form an official analysis, but for now, it doesn't seem like he's really understanding what we're trying to tell him."

"What? He forgot he's really a criminal on the run?"

"I don't think we're looking at a simple concussion. Something must have shaken loose in him. There's no telling as of this point how extensive since we have no information on what the other mutant's powers were. If you know, we're going with that theory." Hank says, grudging concern creeping into his voice. "Erik, what's the last thing you remember?"

By sheer force of bullheadedness and refusal to give in to unconsciousness, _he was not about to swoon in Hank's presence like a fucking damsel not matter how distressed he feels,_ he manages to glare at Hank in cold silence, conveying how stupid he thinks the question is and them by extension.

"Humor me, Erik." Hank insists, pulling out the soulful, gentle puppy eyes that's nowhere near as powerful as Charles, but is affecting him all the same in his diminished state. Damn it. Fine. He was not about to reveal how he fucked up with Charles the other night though while sporting a concussion with Raven listening in.

"Putting the twins to bed. Lorna." Erik says and gets a blank look for his trouble.

"And whose Lorna?"

"Hank." The irritation's rising again.

"Just answer the question, Erik."

"My daughter." Erik hisses, feels a sort of vindictive glee to see the shock crossing the younger man's face. "Is there a reason why you're asking these stupid—" he trails off as he brings a hand up to his head in an attempt to ward off the incessant pounding. The silence in the car has Raven asking stupid questions again while Erik stares at his hand in growing horror at the absence of the gold band.

"Did you just say your daughter?" Hank ventures, sounding as dubious as he looks, questioning Erik's mental capacity no doubt, not that Erik can even be bothered to feel offended when he's too busy not freaking out.

"Where is it?"

"Erik?"

"Where the fuck is it?" He was not gonna get hysterical. Absolutely not. No.

"What?"

"My ring."

"What ring?"

"Don't play stupid." Erik grits out, too many teeth and looking just a tad bit homicidal, the glassy look in his eyes not helping the deranged look any. He's got his fingers curled tight around Hank's collar and _squeezing._ Something decidedly metallic rattles. "My wedding ring."

That gets a splutter for a response and Hank struggling to get out of Erik's grip which pathetically enough isn't really much of a struggle at all.

"You're married?!" It was Raven near shrieking in the front seat confusing Erik all the more by the genuine surprise he can detect in her voice. "When did this happen? To who?!"

"What do you mean to who?" He snaps, head jerking back and forth between Hank and Raven probably too much too fast for what his body's currently capable of dealing with since there goes the world spinning dizzyingly again and oh bugger, he's gonna pass out this time he just knows it. He sags sideways, cheek cushioning against the car's headrest and putting forth all effort in just trying breathe and not fucking faint.

"Erik, who do you believe you're married to?" Hank presses on unhelpfully. "Erik?"

"Charles! You both know this. We've been married for five years." He grounds out weakly, more of a pained and exhausted murmur than anything else but there is no mistaking the words that just came pouring out of his mouth, the sheer need to get the information across and making a goddamn point. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

There's silence, then Raven's sucking in a gasp coupled with Hank's, _oh dear_ and as much as Erik tries to stay afloat in the sea of crazy, he sinks.

TBC

* * *

 **A/N:** Updates will be every Thursday or every other Thursday, depending on how much time I can squeeze in finalizing the chapters I've already got written down what with juggling two jobs and all that rot. Uhhh, care to leave a feedback? Comments? Violent reactions? Still a novice in writing in general. Would greatly appreciate your input :) Thank you.


	2. Chapter 2

Charles is the perfect picture of calm, an illusion of a wealthy young man simply admiring the grandness of his estate on a warm Tuesday afternoon as he waits by the main entrance to the mansion, gaze set and chin held high. A thick wool blanket covers his lap, large enough to hide the wheelchair in plain sight. He knows he shouldn't hide, _not about this_ , yet the thought of Erik seeing him up close, attention trained on Charles, _on his legs_ , without the serum's aid drags up rather too familiar unpleasant feelings of hurt, anger and humiliation.

Pity is the last thing he wants to see flashing in Erik's eyes the minute he takes one good long look.

Charles would prefer that confrontation never comes to pass but can only delay the inevitable for a while longer. No matter what his mind, _common sense, bloody hell everyone_ says on the matter of Erik Lehnsherr, nothing that can be done about his stubborn heart.

Having heard Erik's thoughts an hour before, the desperation in him, _Erik's love, fierce and staggeringly intense_ as it was that Charles had felt like drowning in it's depths, just about liquefied whatever feeble resolution he'd gained over the years in keeping Erik away.

Peter's a bundle of anxious energy by his side, near vibrating from the extensive amount of self control he's no doubt enacting on his person in order to keep still. Charles had thought to forego letting Peter know about Erik's impending arrival but is quick to rebuke the idea. Who was he to keep this from a child whose original purpose in coming to the mansion was to look for his wayward father?

The second month since the fiasco in Washington, Peter arrived on the mansion's doorstep, a duffel bag flung over one shoulder and was asking flat out if Charles had been keeping Magneto in the dungeons or something equally deserved. There hadn't been a need to reach into the boy's mind, his train of thought highly spasmodic as it was leaking into Charles' shields, broadcasting his intent to talk to his father, along with the inexplicable need to ask if he ever came across Wanda, his twin sister on his travels.

To say Charles was surprised upon finding out the paternal connection between Peter and Erik, not to mention a runaway sister, _and why hadn't Logan say anything about that_ , has been one massive bloody understatement. So much for knowing everything about him. Not for the first time Charles looks back to his younger self and thinks what an arrogant, egotistic tosser he'd been.

There's a whoosh and then Peter's beside him again, adjusting his cap, a tentative smile on his young handsome face. It looks entirely alien on him. Charles will always prefer the mischievous, impish grin than to this pale imitation.

"They're here. Saw Magneto passed out in the car. Head's bandaged and there was blood." He says with a shrug, hands digging into his front pockets. Charles knows him well enough to see through the nonchalance. "They didn't bring that other mutant. It's just him."

"Thank you, lad." Charles returns with a tight smile and a nod. Judging by the young mutant's state of mind earlier, he hadn't thought she would have stayed long enough for Hank and Raven to find. Fingers gripping the wheelchair's metal armrest, he shifts his focus back to Erik and is swamped with a sudden spike of worry. Hank or Raven couldn't have possibly given him that head injury had they?

Peter visible winces by his side, hand coming up to clutch at his head. "Ow. Prof, you're broadcasting."

Charles blinks, quick to catch the slip. "Oh dear." he says, guilt in his voice. "I am so terribly sorry Peter."

"It's fine, Prof." Peter swiftly assures. "Just you know, caught me off guard that's all."

"Still, I should've— will you please come closer?" Charles coaxes to which Peter readily squats on the floor, placing both hands on the armrest and tilting his head so Charles can do his magic. The show of trust never fails to astonish him.

"Better?" Charles asks afterwards.

That garners that lovable impish grin much to Charles' delight. "Yep. Thanks."

"Good, and you're welcome." Charles smiles, flicks the brim of the hat before Peter stands, turning to the sound of a rumbling engine.

Azure eyes follow the advance of Hank's EH Holden as it passes through the steel iron gates. It's a beautiful piece of machinery. Fascinatingly intermingling shades between green and blue. It's the same color as Erik's eyes. Put in a different light and it can be as disorienting as Erik's feelings are where Charles is concerned. He flinches, inwardly berating himself for not catching the nonsensical thought in time. He huffs a short bitter chuckle, shaking his head at the pathetic observation.

The car slows down to a stop in front of the mansion's steps and then Raven's coming out of the driver's seat, slamming the door shut. Her rosy peach disguise is in place, expression that of a thundercloud before she changes to her beautiful blue.

Charles has had to prioritize reconstructing his mental shields first and foremost as soon as he was off Hank's medication. He's been vigilant in not catching any stray thought from the mansion's inhabitants, more so from loved ones who get uncomfortable fast living with a telepath. But now he's positively itching to pry, a tiny little peek to know what exactly happened. Erik's there, he can feel him, but there isn't even so much as a stir in his consciousness. No dreams. Naturally, it has Charles' heart rate picking up in worry.

Peter's fingers curl around his arm and gives it a gentle squeeze, a silent sympathetic connection between two people that share the same history of having been left behind by the same man. His hand comes up to cover Peter's own, touched and grateful for the insight to offer comfort. He'd been there during the altercation in the Pentagon, had seen firsthand how their meeting had affected Charles.

Despite the punch to the face, which Peter cheers his father had coming, he knows how much his _friend_ still means so much to him.

He meets Raven's gaze and her pinched look eases up some as she smiles at Charles only to morph into annoyance as she catches sight of their joined hands. Charles suppresses a sigh. In a way, he can see why his growing closeness with Erik's son doesn't sit well with his dear sister, but not everything has to be about or because of Erik.

Charles has come to genuinely like Peter's company. He's a fascinating boy with an even more fascinating mutation. Although his complete lack of regard for authorities, much like his father, has been a cause for concern before, he's been a model citizen ever since stepping foot in the mansion. Running in the hallways will always be a problem with him however. Charles has been resigned to it.

Anxiety and curiosity in equal measure creeps up on Charles fast, his gaze drawn to Hank next as he steps out from the backseat, nodding minutely at him before stooping down and picking up something, or in this case someone from the metal contraption.

"He's alright, Charles. You can stop fretting. And no, we didn't beat him up if that's what you were wondering." Raven says with an eyeroll as she comes around the car to help Hank but not before giving Peter a pointed, unimpressed stare.

"I was not saying anything, nor was I… " Charles taps at his head. "Asking."

"You didn't have to. Maximoff gave us a fright earlier, I gathered he already told you about Erik's condition." Raven shoots back with a shake of her head that clearly says, _Really Charles, you're hopeless._ "And besides, it's written all over your stupid face."

"Raven, please." He says with a pained grimace. He can practically feel Peter flare up in his defense beside him while Raven deems sticking her tongue out at him childishly as an appropriate response, broadcasting her loathing of having been given half the task to retrieve Erik.

"I still don't get why you let her talk to you that way." Peter says dryly, arms crossing against his chest, posturing, proving once again how in the short time they've spent together, the teenager's developed quite the protective streak. Charles sighs and sends him a warning look. Peter snorts, not in the least bit repentant. "What? She started it. I don't see why I should be nice when she's not even in the least bit diplomatic. She calls you names when she doesn't get her way. She hates me. And she hates my dad."

"Peter, please. We've talked about this." Charles says, bringing up a hand to his face to rub the spot suddenly throbbing against his temple. A verbal fight, heightened emotions and mental screaming matches adding on top of everything is the last thing he needs right now. "Can we please focus on your father?" He tries again. "Be a love and help Alex prepare the medical room, would you? There's a good lad."

There's silence, a sigh, then a grudging. "Sorry, Prof."

"It's quite alright." Charles soothes, then he's looking at empty space, hair ruffling in the light breeze that Peter always leaves in his wake.

"Oh god, you're both ridiculous. Charles, he's not actually your son." Raven practically spits out.

"Thank you Raven for that astute observation." Charles replies, thin-lipped and refuses to say anything else on the matter.

He looks to a blue-furred Hank just in time to see Erik's bandaged head as he turns. Charles has to physically restrain himself from getting inside the young scientist's mind, to see as he sees, to feel as he feels. He wants to hold Erik in his arms as Hank does, to have his weary but still handsome face pressed against his chest, their bodies snug together and feel his warmth, hear the steady beating of his heart.

Charles is very disappointed at himself.

He considers Erik's prone form and it dawns on him how he's lost quite a bit of weight, _unmistakable effects of being on the run_ , looking small and vulnerable in a way he's never seen him before. There's not a doubt in his mind that Erik would absolutely hate it if he were to find out anyone or Charles for that matter had seen him in such a state.

"You found him like this?" Charles finally finds his voice, a shaky rasping thing that he can barely believe belongs to him. One hand gets suspended in the air, catching himself mid reach, though he still can't quite tear his gaze off the blood soaked bandage on Erik's head.

"He looked worse. He was bleeding kind of bad and kind of not really all there." Hank answers in his usual blunt honesty. "The things he was saying Professor, it was completely mental, you—" Hank grunts and scowls at Raven when she elbows him in the side to interrupt.

"Can we get inside first before dealing with the crazy? I for one need a shower." She says, bends down to kiss Charles on the cheek, her brand of apology for earlier's near quarrel and stomps on her way.

Both Hank and Charles share a commiserating look, left at a standstill. Eventually, they mutually agree to get Erik settled in first and looked over, _he's going to be needing scans according to Hank_ , no matter how much Charles wants to know right that instant every little detail.

Charles had waited for nearly half a year. He can wait a few minutes more.

* * *

Raven doesn't come down to the medical room after her shower as implied and thus leaving Hank to have to retell what happened to the surprise of absolutely no one once they entered his lab.

It's not exactly a secret, her hatred of Erik or that she was angry enough to throw some of that anger in his son's direction. The fact that Charles doted on Peter only served to aggravate her more. Hank can empathize. He doesn't like Erik on the best of days what more for her when she nearly got killed by the man she had once inexplicably trusted. She even went as far as leaving the one person she'd been with all her life just because she thought she saw something in Erik that Charles or even Hank back then could never give her. Full acceptance of what she was. Only to have him turn around and point a gun to her head the soonest he found her a liability.

Charles should be defending her, should be on her side, not welcoming the man's spawn into their home and acting as if he's the greatest thing invented since slice bread, has been Raven's usual complaints ever since finding out about Peter's origins. She's gotten even less thrilled finding out Charles could still welcome Erik back after all of the awful things he'd done and will no doubt continue to do.

Hank wasn't so sheltered to not understand exactly what's been going on between the Professor and Magneto, but even with the excuse of being inlove- how can he possibly still find it in him to forgive, let alone feel anything other than bone-crushing hatred for the man who singlehandedly ruined his life? Hadn't he just a few months ago dropped an honest-to-God stadium on all of their heads?

"Twins you say?" Hank blinks, gaze flooding with Charles' surprised, expectant stare. Of all the times to get lost in thought.

Peter whose sitting on one of the lab tables crosses his knees and steeples his fingers underneath his chin. He sideglances Charles, a look of something unidentifiable passing between them. "You said your adoptive mother told you Erik didn't know, yes?"

"Right. She said mum said dad left to chase some lunatic before knowing she was pregnant. He couldn't have known about us, let alone that we're twins. Unless Wanda found him and told him we existed. I don't even think she knew about who dad was when she skipped town."

"Which of course remains the question why he would make mention of putting the twins to bed."

"Yep, makes it sound like we're six." Peter agrees, gaze still fixed on Charles before puffing air out of his mouth, looking bored.

Hank clears his throat, adjusting his glasses as he taps a clipboard on hand. The confusion is thick in the air and he feels a tad relieved he's no longer alone grasping at the impossibility of Magneto's words. "He mentioned a Lorna as well, his daughter too apparently."

"Do you know a Lorna?" Charles asks the frowning teen and gets a shake of his head as a response, which he takes back in an instant as he snaps his fingers, recollection flashing in his grey eyes.

"Well, I know a Lorna here. Didn't she arrive a week ago?" Peter grins. "With her green hair and my silver hair, she's kind of hard to miss, like Ororo. I've been keeping tabs. She's like thirteen and was following Alex like a puppy." Peter explains with a bemused smirk. Oh he's been giving her hell, now that Hank thinks about it. Alex had mentioned her and the speedster terrorizing the kids.

"I do remember her. Lorna Dane. She came along with Alex and his brother, Scott." Charles says in fond remembrance as he looks at Hank. He reciprocates the Professor's smile knowing full well what put that expression of utter warmth on his face. He was there when Logan mentioned Jean, Scott and someone named Storm which judging by Ororo's weather manipulation powers, could only mean her.

Reopening the school with a single-minded focus bordering on unhealthy had definitely been a step in the right direction.

"She's telekinetic. Like Jean." Peter adds, pulling Charles' highly attentive blue eyes back to the teenager.

"And how do you know that?" Hank feels he already knows the answer but asks anyway.

"She threw the coffeemaker at me in the kitchen when I teased her about Alex. _With her mind._ Oh wait, tried to throw it at me anyway. She missed of course." He blinks at Hank, looking sheepish for all of two seconds. "Don't worry doc, the coffeemaker's alive and well. I did catch it. I don't have a death wish contrary to what most people think. We all know not to mess with the Beast's coffee."

"Thank you, Peter." Charles interjects with a smile and a soft tap against the back of Peter's hand who promptly shuts up and eagerly smiles back. It's nothing short of astounding to watch the Professor command respect and loyalty and a stillness that rarely happens in a teenager whose literally as fast as a speeding bullet. He grimaces. What a stupid comparison to make.

"So we do know someone named Lorna, however that hardly means anything. Alex did say she has lovely parents. Did Erik say anything else?" Charles resumes the line of questioning and Hank finds himself almost literally burning a hole through Peter's forehead.

How do you tell a child whose absent father apparently is not only in a strange love-hate relationship with your pseudo-father figure, but has crazy imaginings of the two of them being married? Yeah, he was not gonna be that guy.

He could always ask the Professor to look into his head to get the information if he wanted it, but is somehow fretful he would no doubt see and feel Hank's unfortunate ingrained disgust about same-sex relationships as he was taught growing up. What if it alienates him from the Professor? Of course Charles would be the last person on earth to hold onto grudges, _Erik Lehnsherr specimen A_ , but it's really not about him getting mad at him but moreso what if Hank hurts him by such thoughts.

Well, only one way to find out.

He lets out a deep exhale, puts the clipboard down and walks over. "I think it's better if you take a look, Professor." He says, falling to one knee before glancing up at Peter. "Sorry. Not trying to shut you out but it's kind of private. Grown up stuff. You understand?"

 _Hank, what is all this about?_

 _You'll find out in a little bit. Trust me, you don't want me saying this around him._

Peter regards them both with a highly dubious stare. He looks at Charles as if asking for the go ahead before he shrugs and jumps up from the bed once Charles gives him the awaited nod.

"Yeah okay. Grown up stuff. Got it. I'll just be in Magneto's room then." He's about to sprint off, however backtracks at the last second and raises one silver eyebrow at the both of them. "I can do that right? I mean, it's allowed?"

"Of course. But do please make sure there's no sudden noises and no making a mess. Your father needs his rest, Peter." Charles instructs before Hank could get a word in, eerily sounding like someone's parent. He's looking straight at the kid in question.

"Got it, Prof. Going to be really quiet." Peter promises, bringing up both hands as he gives them a thumbs up before saluting and making an exaggerated about face. Charles laughs, gaze filled with barely concealed adoration. Hank's heart breaks just a little watching him.

He's too invested in Magneto's son, no matter how much he tries to play it off as if he treats every student the same way as he does Peter because doesn't. Hank dreads the moment Erik finds out about Peter and decides he does not want Charles influencing his children, _Jesus, he has kids plural_ , with his passive outlook in life and whisks the them away from his reach. He doesn't want to see the Professor get hurt that deeply and wholly again, just like those few months after Cuba, and is afraid all the same that it's already too late.

This time Hank can only fervently hope there's still going to be broken pieces of his heart left to pick up.

"Hank?" Charles calls out, hand on his shoulder as he turns his awareness back to his friend, his gaze questioning. Hank forces out a smile, tries to hide the apprehension and judging by the uncertain cast on Charles face, he's not doing a very good job of it.

Regardless, Hank takes his wrist and presses the index and middle finger against his temple, nods. "Okay. Go ahead, Professor."

* * *

 _Don't tell, Charles._

 _Don't want to worry him._

 _Raven, I swear to God if you call me that ridiculous name one more time._

 _My wedding ring._

 _We've been married for five years._

Charles comes out of the memory, white-faced and out of breath, fingers digging into Hank's biceps as he struggles to stay upright and not topple over from where he's seated. He's gasping, lips chapped and heart beating in short staccato rhythm like it wants to break out of his chest. He lifts his head, sees a reflection of his face in Hank's glasses, god he looks a fright, and shuts his eyes tight.

He can't even muster a smidgen of affront as he's gotten an insight into Hank's mild disgust for the true nature of his relationship with Erik, not when he still sees Erik in his mind's eye, the precipitous play of emotions on his pale face, the gash on his temple, his persistent reiteration of hiding the injury from him. The way he looked terrifyingly murderous, ready to tear a strip off Hank for daring to question their _marriage._

 _Jesus, Mary and Joseph._

"Professor, please tell me you're okay." Hank towers over him, a grunt escaping the younger man's mouth as he levels Charles against his chair. He doesn't let go until Charles gives him a nod, and what he hopes is a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"I'll be fine, Hank." Charles grits out, twisting in his seat until he feels suitably vertical. He slumps against the backrest, breath still coming in fast as Hank pulls a nearby chair so he can properly sit in front of Charles, their gazes meeting, wide and more than a little dumbstruck.

Charles breaks the stalemate, stomping down the wretched hope that he can feel flicker up inside. "What the bloody hell was that?"

Hank shakes his head, appearing just as lost. "I was actually hoping you could enlighten me. Raven said he could have been attacked, but of the potential damage that mutant could have done to him, why have Magneto thinking he's married to you of all things?"

Or maybe it's not a type of mental manipulation at all, a part of Charles, the one forever holding onto foolish hope rears it's head out in the open again. Charles would know if the mutant had been a telepath, his previous encounters with Emma, his daily awareness of young Jean Grey has made him receptive to fellow mutants with the same gift, and this young woman they've come across is definitely not one.

What if it's something that's— no, it can't be, Charles chastises himself. Just because Erik's imaginings and fantasies of an After that he'd once promised Charles consisted that of a family, of having children and marrying Charles in a world where they were not going to be condemned for wanting to spend the rest of their lives together, does not mean that part of Erik's psyche, for one reason or another is suddenly and irrevocably dominant.

 _If Erik believes us married, such an improbable idea, in this world of his, if he believes us inlove and together with three beautiful children then maybe—_

Charles indomitably will not entertain such ridiculous notions, no matter how insanely tempting and lovely it seems.

"I don't know, Hank." He feels ashamed, no matter how much he represses that part of him that wants to give in to the gratification of such a lie, it's all too suddenly strong. Charles resolves to right whatever this is. "But I know the real Erik will hate this."

"What did you have in mind?" Hank asks.

God help him, despite every heartache and pain Erik had put him through, he'd deserve begging for scraps of Charles' affection, and if he was going to be in this state, it's going to be so easy to hurt him as he had hurt Charles, but as always cannot find it in him to be cruel, especially to a man he so continuously loves in spite of it all. "We'll do all we can to help him. I will be needing your assistance of course."

* * *

Aquamarine eyes open to the sight of unfamiliar white walls, or maybe not so much as unfamiliar but unwelcome in its detached coldness and the strong smell of antiseptic pervading the air. His face is upturned towards his left, seeing nothing but white and gleaming steel. Hospital then. Or a clinic in the least. He can't be too sure. Nevertheless, he's grateful. At least Hank didn't seem to have lost all sense and p pushed on with his monumentally stupid idea of taking him straight to Charles with a crack in his skull.

He shudders just thinking about his reaction to all the blood. _Oh my poor schatz._

It doesn't take long before he remembers the car and the infuriating questions that he's still half convinced was a prank of some kind that both Hank and Raven deemed morally acceptable to ask a concussed individual.

Erik tries to recall anything past the unpleasant experience in the alley and finds his last memory remains that of tucking his children to bed and then staring at Charles' brooding shoulders, debating if he should risk the biting, _and not the sexy kind_ , to getting elbowed and kicked in sensitive areas in an attempt to reconcile with his very pregnant, moody mate before giving up altogether in favor of sleep.

He tries to move his arm, notices something soft catching in between his fingertips, and does not miss the IV needle sinking into his skin. He looks down in time to see a shock of silver hair, then the head's moving, revealing a half-lidded grey gaze noticeably having just woken up. Rubbing his eyes, the young, eerily familiar but not face blinks at him and announces rather dispassionately. "You're awake."

"Outstanding observation skills." Erik snarks dryly, or at least he tries to because he's never liked waking up to strangers in his space only to end up cursing instead, _sonofabitch_ , as his throat protests, feeling as if he'd just swallowed a whole box of rusting nails.

"Erik, really there's no need to be so vulgar."

Erik turns his head too hard, too fast to the other side he's certain he's just added whiplash to the lists of physical defects he can feel but is somewhat afraid to properly catalogue. Not only does his back feel like it's on fire from the sudden jolt, his chest and his arms ache, his whole abdominal area for that matter and the big bruise he calls a head is now throbbing like crazy as he clutches at it and moans in agony.

He doesn't know how long he's crumpled in on himself but eventually the pain recedes and he's uncrossing arms he doesn't remember hiding his face within it's folds, blinking and stirring to the touch of warm and tender fingers against his temple. Erik's arms drop to the soft white covers before he's looking down at Charles by his bedside, arm outstretched and still pressed against his head.

 _"Danke, Liebling."_ Erik's says gratefully, a genuinely content smile grazing his face. He doesn't know what Charles is doing, but it's definitely helping ease the hurt. He tilts his face a little bit enough so as to have his lips touch the soft skin of Charles' palm, hand coming up next to hold his wrist and kissing every knuckle with tender care. Erik meets Charles eyes, the smile losing some of it's radiance, upon noticing his other half's tearful gaze and naturally coming to one conclusion. "Oh, _geliebter_ , Charles. I'm so sorry for worrying you."

Charles doesn't answer, only exhales a shaky breath, the fingers of his hand, the one that Erik isn't holding he presses against his own temple as a lone tear wells up and roll down his cheeks. He's staring at Erik, like he can't believe he really is there. It makes Erik wonder, his worry spiking. Had his injury been that bad? A door opens revealing an out of breath Hank who is quickly walking over with a purpose in his step decked in a white labcoat.

"I came as fast as I could, Professor."

"Thank you, Hank." Charles finally says, glassy gaze still trained on Erik. It's like he sees him and is happy to see him, yes, however at the same time he seems to be searching for something that he expects to be there but isn't. He looks utterly heartbroken. "I don't know if I can do it. There's no precedence—"

"Professor, you said so yourself— " Hank starts, but Charles cuts him off a little bit harshly than what Erik's used to.

"I bloody well know what I said." The sharp intake of breath that follows as Erik watches Charles literally yank his hand away from Erik's grip and then have those same loving fingers rake shakily through chestnut hair only serves to make his worry skyrocket. Something's wrong.

"Charles, what's going on?" Erik asks, then promptly pales as a horrifying thought occurs to him. "Where are the children? Are they okay?" At the none reply, he can't quite suppress the catch in his breath that follows, his gaze drawn next straight to Charles' middle, terrified of what he'd find, or not find there. He struggles to sit up, pain exploding in his back all over again as he reaches over, but he pays it no mind. Despite how much his body is starting to protest, he's able to irritably pull out the IV needle much to the alarm of the occupants in the room.

"Erik, what are you doing?"

"You're not well enough to be upright. Please get back on the bed."

"Finally, something fun to watch."

"Peter." comes Charles' chastising tone.

"Sorry."

Erik hobbles over as soon as his feet's touched cold floor, tottering precariously and dropping in front of Charles, hand grasping towards Charles stomach as if drawn to it's magnetic north. He draws in a quivering breath, cheek resting on the blanket covering Charles' lap, fingers creeping up the hem of his mate's tweed jacket seeking warm skin, palm spreading out and just holding. The complete lack of the small hard bump where their unborn child was supposed to be growing has Erik feeling as if the whole world's collapsed around him.

Wide blue-green stricken eyes meets his husband's equally stricken gaze, mirroring shock in those watering azure blues, although entirely for different reasons. Pale, elegant fingers clench and unclench on top of Erik's hand before seemingly giving up indecision as it descends, clutching him in a white-knuckled grip. He hears Charles whisper-gasp, sees his other hand coming up to cover trembling lips. " _Oh, Erik._ "

"Charles." Erik struggles to find his voice, heart dropping somewhere around his feet. "What's happened to our David?"


End file.
